"You're a good boy, and always was; but it does vex me to see you always so ready to be at everybody's beck and call; and, where it's a woman, it naturally vexes me more.

You wouldn't want to run any risk of being misunderstood, or making a woman care about you more than she ought." Stephen stared.

This was a new field.

Had his mother gone already thus far in her thoughts about Mercy Philbrick?
And was her only thought of the possibility of the young woman's caring for him, and not in the least of his caring for her?
And what would ever become of the peace of their daily life, if this kind of jealousy--the most exacting, most insatiable jealousy in the world--were to grow up in her heart?
Stephen was dumb with despair.

The apparent confidential friendliness and assumption of a tacit understanding and agreement between him and her on the matter, with which his mother had said, "You wouldn't want to be misunderstood, or make a woman care more for you than she ought," struck terror to his very soul.